infinite potential

"Because everything is empty of having a self-nature, everything has infinite potential." Lama Marut

angels everywhere

Yesterday I took a long walk on the beach past the new resort they are building to a part of the beach that is untouched and wild. The seaweed from the coral reef washes up onto the beach here, and in front of the resorts workers and trucks sweep it away. But venture past the developments and there is seaweed everywhere. And mixed in with the seaweed are myriad items of humankind -- juice boxes, parts of toys, condoms, plastic bottles and bags. I came upon a woman picking up garbage. She was staying at the "Grand Moon," the most exclusive of the Moon Palace hotels. She said that staying in a place so beautiful made her feel particularly responsible to clean things up that other people left behind. As we talked more, she shared with me that just prior to leaving for their trip, her husband was diagnosed with inoperable lung cancer, and was scheduled to start chemo the day after their return. And that this made her feel even more appreciative of the beauty all around her and the obligation of people to clean up the planet for future generations. Because as her husband's illness made crystal clear, life is fleeting and can change at any moment. So often it takes catastrophes, or angels, to make us realize the fundamental truth that our existence is fragile and to be treasured. So seize the day!

follow your curriculum

I got some flack for my last post. Several people were skeptical that the workers here are truly happy, and thought it might just be a show for the guests. But we have been here for 4 days and have yet to encounter a staff person who doesn't smile and seem truly interested in being helpful and kind. They seem to embody the Buddhist and Yogic concepts of joyful effort -- taking delight in doing what is constructive. Joyful effort means you exert the necessary effort and ability to persevere. You don't sludge along at the beginning, poop out in the middle, and fizzle at the end. The joyful mind is energetic and buoyant; every action is done with joy and not with “shoulds,” “oughts,” “supposed-tos,” obligation, guilt and all those other familiar attitudes.

Ram Dass says that whatever is going on in our lives -- career, relationships, family obligations -- is our "curriculum." Our job is to do the best we can with the most positive attitude we can muster. As in school, not every course is a favorite, but we must still give our best effort and try to get that "A."

When I feel like I just can't cut the crusts off another peanut butter and potato bread sandwich, I will remind myself of the kindness and joyful demeanor of the staff here at the Moon Palace. Being a mom, and all that goes with it, is part of my curriculum. And so, as I spread the peanut butter, I will remind myself to chant "love and magic," and put a special note in Samy's lunchbox to bring a smile to her face.

hotel earth

Here at the Moon Palace (yes, I'm on vacation in a Mexican paradise), the staff is incredible. At every turn, there is someone to ask if you need help, if you would like another drink, or if you need anything at all. Each person I encounter seems genuinely happy to be of help. I imagine that the management must have said "the guests are here for a week. It is each of our jobs to make their stay here amazing. So anticipate their needs, see to their comfort, and take joy from making them happy from the minute they arrive until they check-out." This morning, I woke up thinking that it would be wonderful if each of us viewed ourselves as staff on hotel earth. That it is our job, our assignment, our mandate, to make the stay of all the other guests amazing. To anticipate each other's needs, see to each other's comfort, and take joy from making each other happy until we check out. Because we will. And we must. And we should.

seeing another side

Yesterday, I wrote about the loss of our neighbor, Gerry Niewood. He was one of the people that make Glen Ridge so special. From the outside, we look like a provincial little town, but scratch the surface, and you find a community of amazing artists who not only shine in their professional lives but also give so much to the community. Gerry was one of the most brilliant.

I thought about how I perceive all the people moving around, and in and out of my life. And it occurred to me that we view our lives like movies, in which we are the stars. When you watch a movie, there are the main characters, secondary and minor characters, and extras. It is much the same in life. We see ourselves as the main characters in our lives; we have secondary and minor characters -- people who add color and flavor to our lives but don't really affect the action -- and extras -- the people who are in the background, entering and exiting, moving in and out of our scenes. We all perceive ourselves as the "star of the show," and rarely give a thought to the fact that, at the same time, we are secondary, minor, or merely extras in someone else's story.

Sometimes, a window opens in the lives of one of our "extras," and we realize how much more there is to the lives of people around us. One night, when I visited the senior residence at dinner time, I read to one of the tables from "Stuart Little." Just when I got to the part where Stuart lowers himself down the drain to find Mrs. Little's earring, one of the residents, Bruno, mentioned that he used to know E.B. White. "I used to visit him, you know, and he would occasionally read me his poetry." "I didn't know he was a poet," I said. "Wasn't he though? Or was that the other chap with an "E" for a first name," asked Bruno. "Are you thinking of e e cummings?" I suggested. "Oh yes, that's the chap." Bruno added, "and you know who else is an amazing poet? Barbara, the cook." "e e cummings had a cook who was a poet?" I asked. "No my dear, the cook here," said Bruno, gesturing at the lady serving the food.

I had only met Barbara in passing. Barbara is a beautiful, big boned, chocolate-complexioned woman who has an accent that is a musical blend of England and the West Indies. After dinner, I told her that Bruno had mentioned that she is a poet, and asked her if I could read her poetry.

"I have hundreds of poems at home," Barbara said. "The words just come to me, and I have to write them down." Barbara eagerly brought up some loose papers that were in a ziploc bag. There were perhaps 25 poems in that bag, and they were all remarkable. They were amazingly evocative, with unexpected rhymes and vivid images. Julia had not come into dinner -- another fall -- and so I brought her dessert in to her and asked her if she would like to hear the poems. I read 6 or 7 out loud to her. "I will never look at Barbara the same way again," she said. "I always thought of her as just a cook, and never thought that she might have any other life beyond this place. But really, she is an artist, isn't she." I agreed.

If you stop to look at all the "extras" in your life: the people you pass who are in a hurry to make their train; or are impatiently waiting on the supermarket check out line; or laboring in your neighbor's yard, consider that they might have lives rich with details and color that you never imagine. One of them might be newly in love, or have a talent so far removed from the type of work they do that you would never imagine it. And it's useful to stop and imagine it. To really look. After all, to them, you are probably just "an extra" too.

let me find you

Let Me Find You
Barbara Aldrich

Let me find you where you hide
behind closed door alone in your room.
Let me brush aside your tousled hair,
wipe the tears from off your cheek,
see into your heart and lift your pain.
Let me find you.

Let me find you standing in that place alone,
crowds around you - no one seeing,
no one feeling.
Let me look into your eyes
make them smile, reflecting mine,
make them shine.
Let me find you.

I am love,
sent from God for everyone.
I am your right.
I am your gift.
I am here to lead you up from out of the night.
Don't give up.
There is someone out there
to fill your cup.
Let me find you.

the plane is always dropping

It is Valentine's Day. This morning was happy, with a new, squishy teddy bear for Samy, a singing card for Freddie (open it up and it sings "I Got You Babe," to remind him of one fateful night of karaoke years ago), and a visit to Walpan to give cards and chocolate to people that have no one to remember them. It is also a sad day - we found out that a neighbor, Gerry Niewood, died on the plane crash in Buffalo. He was young, a vibrant musician, father of two, husband of one, and a big contributor to our community. My heart goes out to his wife and children.

Death is a by-product of birth, whenever it comes. But still, it shocks and saddens. When it comes suddenly, it throws into sharp relief what is truly meaningful about life, and what is meaningless. As Geshe Michael Roach writes in his translation of the Yoga Sutras, "When we take a trip by airplane, we tend to focus on small things: the food, the movie, the person next to us. Then if the plane suddenly drops, we think about death, about what we did with our life, about what might happen after we die. But we can (and will) die any time, even sitting in a chair at home. The plane is always dropping. It's alright - it's a good thing - to enjoy life. We should enjoy it. But we should also enjoy the work of finding its deeper meaning, and not lose our life in little distractions and attachments."

When something traumatic happens, we remember for a while. We make a point to tell our loved ones we love them, we hug our children more tightly, we pledge to ourselves that we are going to live more meaningful lives. But before we know it, we're back to life as usual, sweating the small stuff. We forget that our happiness is rooted in cultivating the appropriate relationship to the temporary pleasures and pains of the world. The "things" in our world, from objects to emotions to birth and death, are neutral. It is how we approach them that determines whether we experience them as leading to pain or pleasure. To quote Sri Satchidinanda, "Electricity is good when you plug in a radio but bad when you plug in your finger." "Things" don't cause our grief. What causes pain is our relationship to these "things," which is often based on the unrealistic expectation that we will have them, whether they are relationships or objects, forever. This is not to say that we don't feel sadness or loss when someone passes; of course we do. But the point is to live life fully NOW. Don't wait. Express your love, gratitude, and generosity today. The plane is always dropping.

do-over

When I teach yoga, my students sometimes get frustrated when they fall out of a balancing asana like tree pose. I tell them to look at it as a chance to have a "do-over." So often we wish we could turn back time. We think, if I had just said "this," or hadn't said "that," or "if I knew then what I know now." And we re-play it in our minds, thinking, if only I could do it over.

Yesterday, my husband finally got his ankle x-rayed and it is, indeed, a fracture. He came home with a big bulky air-cast that he has to wear all the time for 4 weeks, except when he is sleeping or showering. Now, he is bummed out all over again. (If you don't know the story, it's here.)

I feel for him. But I am also grateful that I get another chance to act generously and compassionately. To put myself in his shoes and try to give him what he needs, both physically and emotionally. I didn't do this so well when he first hurt his ankle. I am excited to get a "do-over." During the next four weeks, I imagine I'll be falling again and again.

this little thing called love

Valentine's Day is approaching, and hearts and candy are everywhere. Samy is already angling for a heart shaped sandwich and a singing card in her lunchbox, preferably with Hannah Montana's voice, like the one she saw on TV. For her, the day is all about the party at school, the "ickiness" of having to give cards to the boys in her class ("Why do we have to give cards to everyone? Why not just the people we like?), the unfairness of not being allowed to have candy in class, and what she is going to get.

Oh, the anxiety V'Day provoked when I was dating - will my boyfriend treat it as an important day? What will he get me? What will it mean? And when I was single, V'Day induced almost as much depression as New Year's Eve. It made me feel like I would never "get" love.

Love is a word we use a lot, but what is it? In our culture, it is usually a deep, intense longing for another person. It is that "you complete me" feeling, which implies that you are not, otherwise, complete. It is that searching for a "soul mate," the "one." And it is followed by the inevitable suffering when your projection of the "perfect person" clashes with who he or she really is. We blame love for causing pain, longing and heartache. We look to how our relationships fulfill our needs, and more often than not feel unfulfilled. We think of "unrequited love," or phrases like "love is a battlefield."

The Buddhist concept of love is something very different. Metta, loving-kindness, is the deep desire to make others happy. It is the idea that love exists in itself, not relying on owning or being owned. In metta, you strive to open your heart unconditionally, first towards yourself and then others, encompassing all that is, with acceptance, awareness, and good will. It is loving without though of being loved, giving without though of receiving.

My husband shows the effects of metta. He grew up without many of the comforts -- emotional and material -- that most of us take for granted. His father was in jail for most of my husband's childhood and died when he was 12. His mom battled alcoholism while struggling to raise 5 children on public assistance. Most of my husband's friends did not live to adulthood; they died from either drugs or gang violence. But my husband is the most loving, big-hearted, content person you could meet. He is grateful all the time for the life we lead. If you ask him how he grew up without the anger and scars that such a childhood can leave in its wake, he points to how his siblings and relatives in their apartment building always looked out for him. He'll say that although he didn't have much, he always felt loved. Because so many people around him looked out for his happiness, he grew up with the acceptance, awareness, and good will that metta gives, and creates. So give a little love this Valentine's Day and every day.

Luck, by Langston Hughes
Sometimes a crumb falls
From the tables of joy,
Sometimes a bone
Is flung.
To some people
Love is given,
To others
Only heaven.

ch-ch-ch changes

A friend of mine recently reconciled with her mother, with whom she hadn't spoken in years. This was possible, she said, because of how much her mother has changed. This made me thing about my mother. Like most mothers and daughters, we have had our close times and our estranged times. She is the person I turn to first, and the person I push away the most. But one thing is true - she is not the same person she was when I was growing up, and I am not the same person I was when she was a young mother.

This led me to consider how we form opinions about each other based on moments in time. One interaction can color our impressions for years. But really, we are all changing day by day, moment by moment. We mistakenly think of ourselves as having some kind of "permanent structure," when actually our physical tissues are continually being turned over, renewed in a balance between the constant death of old cells and the constant birth of new cells. Our emotions and thoughts are continually changing too -- karmic seeds are ripening and dying, new mental images and habits are constantly being created and destroyed. So the "you" I see today, and the "me" you see, will be different tomorrow.

So it is critical to start fresh all the time. To refrain from judgments and holding grudges. Because tomorrow, later, now, can be totally different. Which brings me to one of my favorite poems:

Salutation to the Dawn
(Kalidasa)

Look to this day!
For it is life, the very life of life,
In its brief course
Lie all the verities and realities of your existence
The bliss of growth
The glory of action
The splendor of beauty.

For yesterday is but a dream
And tomorrow is only a vision,
But today well lived makes every yesterday
A dream of happiness
And every tomorrow a vision of hope.

Look well, therefore, to this day!
Such is the salutation to the dawn.

recipes for happiness

from class today:

expect little,
be grateful for everything.
and you will always be happy.

To Be Happy
(author anonymous)
to be happy
help
help someone
help someone who needs it
help someone who needs it badly
help someone who needs it badly and you know there will be no return
help someone who is not related to you
help someone who is not your close friend
help someone who does not expect you to
help when it is not your duty
help in whatever way you can
help
and you will be happy

interpreting data

The Aitareya Upanishad asks: "Who is this Self on whom we meditate? Is the Self by which we see, hear, smell, and taste? Through which we speak in words? Is Self the mind by which we perceive, direct, understand, know, remember, think, will, desire, and love? These are but servants of the Self, who is pure consciousness."

How often is the Self really the master of the mind? Most of the time, it feels like the complete opposite. The mind is dragging me along, bounding from experience to experience, and my higher Self is careening behind, calling out "wait a minute," "slow down," "WHOAH NELLY!"

Today in meditation I was recalling my approach to the pain I had after my shoulder surgery, and realized that I can approach situations and emotions the same way. Rather than labeling them as difficult or painful; rather than labeling someone as unreasonable or mean; I can try to look at the raw data, pixel by pixel. Acknowledging, but not reacting to, how I feel about it, I can examine it frame by frame, and take actions that are most conducive for planting good seeds for the future. If hindsight can make experiences feel completely different than they did at the time, why not foresight? Or present sight?

home alone

I am home alone. My husband and younger daughter Samy are away skiing. Mariel, my older daughter is spending the day with her dad. And I am home alone. In the years following my divorce from Mariel's father, being home alone was excruciating. I didn't know what to do with myself. Mariel's absence was like a wound. Now, I stretch my mind and body out in my empty house, luxuriating in the possibilities. I have a list - meditate, walk the dog, read, visit Walpan, do an asana practice, take a nap - and I can organize it, change it up, however I want. A different time, a different perspective, can make an experience that once was agonizing feel delicious.

a grain of sand

A pearl is a thing of great beauty, that is created by an oyster out of something that is irritating. A grain of sand, for example, gets into the oyster's shell. The oyster can't expel it, and so, as a defensive mechanism, covers up the irritant to protect itself, slowly creating a luminous, iridescent coating around the tiny grain of sand. People in our lives can be like these grains of sand. I work with a friend who sometimes sees the world very differently than I do. I tend to think anything is possible. I get swept away by an idea, and my immediate inclination is to dive right in and go for it. I always believe my plans will turn out for the best, and that everyone involved will act fairly and generously, and be just as enthusiastic as I am. My friend, unlike I, is careful and cautious. It is not that she doesn't have a big heart -- she does. But her "default" outlook is to think about what can go wrong, the problems that may arise, and to worry that people won't cooperate. At times, I have been irritated by her. I have viewed her as a naysayer, and a pessimist. But over time, I have come to appreciate her and value her more than she knows. I know that I can always look to her to point out things that I not only overlook, but that won't even occur to me. My exuberance often blinds me to different possibilities, and I know I can count on my friend to step on my brakes and say "Whoa!"

We can each be like the oyster with a pearl. If we look at it a different way, that irritating grain of sand can actually be a great gift. An unpleasant, abrasive situation can instead bring transformation and wisdom. Don't we grow most because of the difficult people and situations in our lives? A pearl is an oyster's work of art; beauty created from something that initially was unwelcome. My friend has helped me to be more thoughtful, thorough, and contemplative. By giving me these gifts, she is a jewel in my life.

feelin' groovy

And A Meadowlark Sang
Ravindra Kumar Karnani

"The child whispered, 'God, speak to me'
And a meadow lark sang.
The child did not hear.

So the child yelled, 'God, speak to me!'
And the thunder rolled across the sky
But the child did not listen.

The child looked around and said,
'God let me see you' and a star shone brightly
But the child did not notice.

And the child shouted,
'God show me a miracle!'
And a life was born but the child did not know.

So the child cried out in despair,
'Touch me God, and let me know you are here!'
Whereupon God reached down
And touched the child.

But the child brushed the butterfly away
And walked away unknowingly."

Yesterday, that sacred spirit came to me in the form of my friend Marcie, who said, "go outside and enjoy the beauty around you and you'll turn yourself around," ... and I did.

no more turkish delight

In C.S. Lewis's The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, young Edmund falls into the thrall of the White Witch, who plies him with enchanted Turkish Delight, which cause him to feel petulant, unsatisfied, and resentful of his siblings. The worse he feels, the more Turkish Delight he craves, and he eventually betrays his siblings to the witch. I thought about this story line today, because I have been feeling sour and dull all week. I have been just "getting through" my days, rather than living them with joy. Why? I think it is a direct result of how I WASN'T taking care of Freddie last week. By withholding compassion from him, I temporarily injured my soul. Viewing his injury and reaction to it as something he was "doing to me," was like eating poisonous Turkish Delight. The more I acted this way, the more I couldn't stop acting this way. I acted bitterly and sourly, and my whole week turned sour. And not only did I plant bad karmic seeds for myself, but also I modeled selfish behavior for my children. Plus, I complained to people, thus painting my lovely husband -- who goes out of his way to help and care for me -- in a negative light. But upon who was I really casting that light? ME.

So I'm not trying to beat myself up about this. Feeling guilty is just a form of self-indulgence. But I am trying to look at it from different angles and learn a little something. Really, how can I have expected to feel happy this week when I was not contributing to the happiness of one of the people dearest to my heart?

seize the opportunity

The Prayer of St. Francis goes like this:
O Lord, make me an instrument of thy peace.
Where there is hatred, let me sow love;
Where there is injury, pardon;
Where there is doubt, faith;
Where there is despair, hope;
Where there is darkness, light;
Where there is sadness, joy.
O divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek
To be consoled as to console,
To be understood as to understand,
To be loved as to love;
For it is in giving that we receive;
It is in pardoning that we are pardoned;
It is in dying to self that we are born to eternal life.

Last week, I had an opportunity to be such an angel - my husband sprained his ankle badly and was completely out of commission. Not only was his ankle horribly injured, but his ego was as well. He was wounded mentally and physically. So he presented me with a perfect opportunity to console, show love and joy. But instead, I felt irritated and annoyed that he was indulging in self-pity, and resented the hours he was spending in front of the TV, nursing his injury and his pride. Even if he needed help viewing the sprain for what it was -- a temporary inconvenience in an otherwise blessed life of abundance -- I did not help him in a way that served him, but instead added insult to his injury. The ramifications for this? I planted the seeds to have someone NOT show me compassion in the future. And here he was - giving me the opportunity to plant the seeds for someone to show me compassion and love - and I missed it! How can I avoid missing future opportunities? By remembering to see everyone I meet, and everything that happens to me -- especially the difficult people and incidents -- as special and meaningful. By presuming that even the most difficult person is an angel, trying to help me -- sometimes kindly but more often by pushing my buttons! If no-one pushes my buttons, I'll never know where and what they are. And I'll never get rid of them.

a good sit

I try to meditate for at least 20 minutes every day. It doesn't always happen. Sometimes, I oversleep. Sometimes a little buddha comes and sits on my lap and starts chanting OM, which is lovely but distracting. But sometimes, it happens and it is beautiful. Today in meditation I saw myself as a big outline with every being I have ever had contact with as "living" inside of me and inside each of them was everyone they have ever known and so on. So that inside the outline of "me" were infinite beings. I was aware that my whole concept of "I" depends on all of the interactions I have had with all of these beings, and their concepts of "I" depend on their interactions with all of the beings in their lives, and so on, so that there is no one "me." Instead, we are all made up of infinite beings, and everyone else any of them have ever known. I felt as if the whole universe was inside of me and that I was part of the universe all at the same time. I then became aware that the air I was breathing is shared with every other sentient being on this planet. I felt a tremendous kinship with everyone in the world, and felt us all dissolve into one being and no being. We are all just light, inhaling the same air and exhaling into the same atmosphere like one organism.

Detours

Sometimes a detour turns out to be the best path. And sometimes, yoga works! On December 26, my family set out for a long planned trip to the Bahamas. Unfortunately, I didn't realize that Samy needed to have a passport (even infants need passports now -- I think I am the only person who didn't know that); we only had a certified birth certificate for her. In Charlotte, NC, after an hour of discussions with US Airways supervisors, we were not allowed to board our connecting flight to Nassau. Frustration, anger, guilt, recriminations right? Wrong! I was able to see the airline ticket agent as an angel trying her best to help us. I then had to wait on a long line at the US Airways service desk for over 1 hour -- I was filled with love, compassion and empathy for all the travelers who had been bumped from flights or missed connections. I saw all the beings moving around the airport as holy and made of light. A US Airways customer service angel re-routed us to to Fort Myers Beach, to a beautiful hotel on the Gulf of Mexico, and our family had a wonderful vacation. Even in hindsight, it was an amazing experience that I am glad to have shared with my kids. It was a lesson in what is really important - that we were all together on an adventure; we were healthy and had each other; and getting frustrated or angry doesn't do anyone any good.

Walking in the Woods on a Snowy Morning

This morning I walked my dog in the woods near my house. The path was slick, icy, and very slippery. But the traction in the snow off the beaten path was much better. Hmm -an interesting metaphor... I had difficulty maintaining my balance on the path most traveled, and felt so much steadier off it.